


Suitcase Heart

by brinnanza



Series: The More the Merrier [13]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Emotional Wrist Touching, Episode Related, Episode: s09e10 Operation Friendship, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: “I am your doctor, remember?” Hawkeye says, same as he’s done for the last several days to justify checking and rechecking the incision, BJ’s range of motion, if the bandage is too tight. BJ’s long since learned that sometimes there’s no talking Hawkeye out of things, and it’s easier to just indulge him.





	Suitcase Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to the MASH discord server for directly inspiring this fic (because everyone needs more emotional wrist smooches). This takes place some time after [look up from inside a song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423351) and references a couple of things from that fic, so you might want to read that first. 
> 
> Title comes from a line in "Slow Pony Home" by the Weepies; endless thanks to Floot for looking this over for me.

Hawkeye corners him in the Swamp the day the bandages are finally supposed to come off. BJ would just as soon do it himself, grab a pair of surgical shears before his shift in Post-Op, but Hawkeye won’t hear it, just steers BJ back to his cot and then sits down beside him.

“I am your doctor, remember?” Hawkeye says, same as he’s done for the last several days to justify checking and rechecking the incision, BJ’s range of motion, if the bandage is too tight. BJ’s long since learned that sometimes there’s no talking Hawkeye out of things, and it’s easier to just indulge him.

He doesn’t mind Hawkeye’s attention, but all the extra fuss is both unwanted and unneeded. Because yes, Hawkeye and Potter turned out to be right about his arm, and BJ is reluctantly forced to agree that calling Traeger might have been the right move, but he’s fine _now_ , and if he’s going to be stuck in this hellhole, he might as well spend his time doing what he’s here for, namely patching up kids in much worse shape than he. “My nurse, too, apparently.”

Hawkeye gives him a look, something like fond exasperation. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you a sponge bath later.” He waggles his eyebrows and leers, and then he looks pointedly down at BJ’s bandaged wrist.

There are worse things than being doted on by Hawkeye, BJ decides, and he forks his arm over. Hawkeye shifts a little, resettling BJ’s wrist in his lap, and then he trails his fingertips over the inside of BJ’s elbow, continuing down BJ’s arm. His touch is feather-light, a slow, thorough inspection that draws a shiver in its wake. Hawkeye draws his fingertips up over the bandage with such care that it’s almost _reverent_ , and BJ’s breath catches in his chest.

Hawkeye’s fingers brush over BJ’s palm, and he closes his hand to still them, unexpectedly sensitive. Hawkeye’s touched him places much less innocent than this, but somehow nothing has ever felt quite so intimate.

He looks up to meet Hawkeye’s eyes, a thin ring of blue around black. Every inch of Hawkeye’s considerable focus is on him, like nothing else exists beyond this, the two of them together in a dingy army tent a million miles from home. BJ can never seem to forget -- even in these small moments of salvation, BJ is all too aware of the world beyond, knowing that at any moment the fragile sanctity might be shattered by bombs and bullets and bloodshed. 

And despite all of that, Hawkeye’s focus is on _him_. What could he possibly have done to deserve such devotion? He knows what inspires it in himself -- Hawkeye is a lifeline, the only thing that gets him through the day sometimes. BJ hates every inch of this place, every day, every hour, every _second_ , but at least it gave him Hawkeye. Hawkeye doesn’t make being here worth it - nothing could, not with so much senseless destruction -- but he does make it _bearable_. 

Hawkeye cradles BJ’s wrist in his hands as gently and as carefully as he might an injured sparrow, something delicate and fragile. “You’re not going to break me,” BJ says, and he means it to come out with a playful sternness, but it’s barely more than a whisper.

“Never,” Hawkeye says, and then he ducks his head to focus on BJ’s bandage again. He unwraps BJ’s arm slowly, taking care not to jostle him as if the thought of causing BJ even the slightest amount of pain is anathema to him. BJ’s wrist doesn’t hurt anymore, not really, but there’s an ache in his chest, like his heart has outgrown its place.

There’s a jagged scar under the last layer of bandages, red and angry. It’ll fade, BJ knows, but not entirely, and he can’t help thinking, _now I’ll be scarred on the outside too_. It seems fitting that he should bear some permanent reminder of his time in hell to go with the nightmares and liver cirrhosis he’ll be taking home with him.

Hawkeye frowns down at the scar, thumbs brushing along either side of it. BJ expects a joke, something to lighten this heaviness that’s settled over both of them like a blanket of wet snow, but instead, Hawkeye lifts BJ’s wrist to his mouth and places a soft kiss over the scar, a barely-there brush of lips that’s so tender, BJ momentarily forgets how to breathe.

His own clever rejoinder dies in his throat as Hawkeye meets his gaze again, and all he can manage is a ragged, “Hawk --” before Hawkeye’s mouth is on his, gentle but insistent. BJ pulls him closer, leans back on the cot so Hawkeye is sprawled on top of him and between his thighs, and slides his hands into Hawkeye’s hair for something to ground him.

Hawkeye pauses long enough to drop another fleeting buss over BJ’s scarred wrist, and then he kisses BJ hard, a sharp whine crawling up out of him. It’s desperate, almost frantic, like Hawkeye’s trying to fit in as much as he can while he’s still got time. BJ tugs gently at Hawkeye’s hair, not to stop him, but just to slow him down. Because there’s _time_ \-- Hawkeye might not believe him, but they have so much time. One day this terrible war will end, but _this won’t_ , not if BJ has anything to say about it.

“I love you,” BJ pants against Hawkeye’s mouth. “I love you, I --” He’s so full of it that he can’t keep it all inside of him, has to say it again and again until Hawkeye learns it by rote. “Love you, Hawk --”

Hawkeye makes a pained noise and ducks his head, nosing at the junction of BJ’s neck and shoulder. For a moment, BJ is terrified he’ll pull away, that he’ll make some glib comment and get up, convinced he can’t have this. BJ knows the surest way to scare Hawkeye off is to hold too tight, so he cards his fingers through Hawkeye’s hair and waits.

“BJ --” he says in a rough voice, and BJ knows what he’s trying to say. Even if Hawkeye doesn’t say it -- even if Hawkeye never says it -- BJ knows. It’s gross anatomy, riding a bike, the address of his childhood home. It’s a universal constant, woven into all the spaces between them. 

“I know,” BJ whispers. He wraps his arms around Hawkeye and draws him in. Hawkeye buries his face in BJ’s neck, and BJ can feel the warm puff of Hawkeye’s breath on his skin, the rise and fall of Hawkeye’s chest against his. BJ just wants to hold him close forever, pull Hawkeye inside of him and keep him safe where nothing can hurt him. 

How can Hawkeye expect him to give this up? He’d sooner give up oxygen -- either way, he’d have to relearn how to breathe. _This doesn’t have to stay here_ , BJ almost tells him again. He wants to say it over and over, announce it the camp on the PA, broadcast to the whole world that he loves Hawkeye Pierce and he has no intention of stopping. 

He’s already exhausted the supply of four letter words Hawkeye will allow him right now, so instead of repeating himself, he holds Hawkeye close, breathes in the scent of harsh army soap and Korea that clings to them all here. It shouldn’t smell like home, but on Hawkeye, it does.


End file.
